”There is no such thing as a non-Catholic Latino.”

Esteban heard this phrase often as he grew up in his aunt and uncle’s home. In spite of the strong belief in the magic of the Clow Cards, Catholicism was deeply rooted in both sides of the family. It was easier to say and act according to the Catholic rules; to be a wolf in sheep’s clothing, than to risk excommunication from extended family.

So the three of them stood in church, while the Mass was coming to a close. Esteban stood next to the aisle, then his Tía Rosa, followed by Tío Rudolfo. From the fifth row, they had a good view of the priest, the white marble altar, and the massive crucifix that hung suspended from the ceiling behind him. The priest was giving the final blessing to everyone and the Mass ended. The priest came down to the front row and gestured for a man from there to join him. He smiled as a thin, black man in his mid-forties stepped out and stood next to him. Esteban looked at him. He had graying hair, but he was not balding.

Then he made contact with his eyes.

His mind flashed back to that night. He recalled the deep brown color and the fear they held. But now, even without the fear, the eyes matched! It was him! Aaron Temple; the one who wanted to leave quickly. He saw his chance after all these years of hunting. Bolting out of his pew, he picked up the man, ran to the altar and forcibly slammed Temple’s body onto it. The man yelled in pain and surprise, but the real screaming was about to begin. With a feral look in his eyes, Esteban slowly raised his hand with all the ceremony of an Aztec shaman. Suddenly, he punched his hand through Temple’s chest. A quick moment later, he pulled his hand back out, clutching the man’s still beating heart. Esteban looked at the crucifix – at the man who was not there when his parents were killed – and cried out:

”This is for you, Papá!”

With a powerful squeeze, blood splashed everywhere, covering Temple, the altar, and himself. Soon, Temple’s screams of terror and pain had finally died off. Esteban threw the spent heart at the crucifix, leaving a bloody smear on the shoulder of Christ.

The applause began. The people of the congregation approved.

Breathing heavily, he whirled around in a puzzled daze. Suddenly, he found himself back in his pew, sweating profusely. The people were clapping for the new parishioner; Simon Smith. They had welcomed him into the fold.

He could barely hear his aunt asking if he was all right, but he could take no more. He immediately turned and left the pew, walking with a strong gait to the wooden double doors of the church. He threw them open, the morning sunlight instantly blinded him. But he did not care. His thirst for vengeance would soon be quenched. He had to prepare. The Final Judgment would soon be upon all of them.

It was the late afternoon when the trio arrived at Ramero’s residence. They took the morning and afternoon to get some badly needed sleep. They were able to get some location information on Matt Starkin, but Aaron Temple was nowhere to be found. They hoped that Ramero had some answers or could be talked out of his path of deadly vengeance.

”So lemme get this straight,” said Werden, as he, Striker, and Harrison walked down the dimly lit and grimy hallway. “This guy we’re after saw his parents get killed. He’s now seeking retribution by taking out his anger on criminals.”

”That’s essentially right,” replied Harrison as he checked his standard issue 9mm, making sure it had not gone anywhere in the last two minutes. “He watched his parents die very painful deaths while they were being treated in an ICU. The old autopsy reports state they were beaten to death. The police report said there were two home invaders: Matt Starkin and Aaron Temple. So, I think he’s looking for the actual killers as they were never caught.”

”Why not become a real cop and bring them down by the book?”

”You said it yourself,” Harrison replied. “His sense of justice isn’t on track with the law and there was an early childhood trauma. Think about it: If you had mystical powers at age ten and you watched your parents slowly and painfully die from severe beatings, would you become a cop? ” Harrison pulled out his badge necklace from inside his shirt pocket and put it on as Werden nodded in agreement to his question.

”Hm, good point,” Werden said, his lips pursed wryly. “I’d want to take them down too.”

”Exactly…okay, here’s apartment forty-two.” Harrison and Werden both drew their guns. Harrison knelt opposite of the door, about three feet away. He tapped the floor a couple times, whispering to Striker. “Right here, boy. Get ready, get ready.”

Striker immediately went to the spot and crouched low, like he was going to pounce on a small animal. The pokémon faced the door with a feral glare and tensed for action. Harrison and Werden stood on either side of the doorframe. Pistols were pointed down as Werden firmly knocked on the wooden door. His voice rang out strongly.

”Esteban Ramero. This is the police. Open the door.”

”Abre la puerta. Esto es la policía,” said Harrison.

Werden looked at Harrison and spoke quietly. “You speak Spanish?”

”Knowing a couple foreign phrases saves a lot of needless slapping around of people,” he replied as quietly with a shrug, then added a smirk soon after.

”You’re a comedian…fucking great,” Werden said, but any further conversation was cut short by a noise from behind the door. Harrison gave a signal to back up. Both men backed up a couple feet, then Harrison gave the order.

”Striker! Door blast! Door blast!”

Striker strongly sucked in a great volume of air. Smoke formed around his mouth as the smell of brimstone quickly filled the hallway. With a strong, downward jerk of his majestic neck, a volleyball sized sphere of flame exploded into the door, turning it into a smoldering pile of splinters. It was like watching a large fire dragon blow up a castle wall.

Harrison ran in first, unexpectedly hearing a woman scream as he passed through the thinning smoke. Werden immediately followed behind, both with their guns pointed out in front of them. They both saw an older Hispanic couple clinging to each other, fearful of what the two men would do.

”Striker! Guard them! Guard!”

Striker ran in and watched the couple, growling loudly like an angry wolf. Werden and Harrison quickly split up and searched the studio apartment. They found no one else. Harrison turned to see the older man holding what looked like a tall playing card and a white glow on the back of his hand. He was murmuring something, but in the next instant, Striker whimpered, then turned on Harrison. His teeth bared menacingly at his partner and best friend. Harrison stood agape at what he saw, then become angered, pointing his gun at the older man.

”What the hell did you do to my partner?! Stop it now!”

The man and woman simply looked at him. From seemingly out of thin air, the woman produced a similar card. A white glow appeared on the backs of her hands, then within a second, an opaque shield about four feet in diameter appeared.

Werden came up behind them and put his .38 to the man’s head and audibly pulled the hammer back.

”I rarely miss at this range. Stop whatever the hell you’re doing and surrender now, dirtbag.”

The man gave a nod and muttered “Dispel.” Striker’s angry features immediately softened, giving way to a confused whimper. He looked at the couple again and backed up a few steps. The woman said the same thing and the shield disappeared. The glow of their white pentagrams faded away.

Werden and Harrison gave quiet sighs of relief as Werden handcuffed them both to a couple of chairs. Harrison comforted Striker after that, making sure that he was okay. The pokémon seemed to be himself, just wary of the couple.

Harrison grabbed another chair and faced the back of it to the handcuffed couple. He straddled the chair, his arms folded on top of the back. It was obvious that he was a little shaken that his partner turned on him, but even angrier with the couple. A good backhand to the man’s jaw would make everything right. The big problem was that they had not done anything wrong. There was no law against mystically turning your partner on you. He focused for a moment to bring his anger down. If there were any remaining doubts that they had found the right place, the brief skirmish certainly dismissed them.

”Who are you?” he asked, managing to contain himself now.

”We are Rudolfo and Rosa Ramero – Esteban’s aunt and uncle.,” the man replied.

Harrison nodded, remembering the tidbit of info about them in the old newspaper article. Looking at Rudolfo’s face showed a similarity to the autopsy pictures of Esteban’s father that were included in the old hospital records he had found. He guessed that he was the victim’s brother.

”Where is he now?” Harrison asked.

”We don’t know,” Rosa replied, her tone filled with concern. “He’s usually here in the afternoons. We have a key to this apartment, so we let ourselves in.”

”Yeah,” started Werden, “after he’s done saving the world from itself, kicking some pimp’s ass and attacking police officers.”

”We do not know anything about that,” Rudolfo said calmly. Rosa’s face changed immediately to worry.

”The hell you don’t!” roared Werden, putting his face to Rudolfo’s. His well-trained face of anger in full effect. “He’s been doing it four four years! DON’T LIE TO ME!”

”Look…” started Harrison, “my partner here is just concerned that someone might get killed or has already been killed. He attacked us last night”.

”No,” Rosa whispered, looking fearful now. “Rudolfo, no. That can’t be. No está posible.” Rudolfo shushed his wife, concern covered his face now. Perhaps this was meant to be. Perhaps the time had come.

”We really don’t know where he is,” Rudolfo started, “but we think that he has found one of the men that killed his parents. I would guess he is following him.”

”Who did he find?” asked Werden, his face still scowled with anger.

”We’re not sure. He wouldn’t tell us. He just walked right out of the church.” Rosa said as tears streamed down her face. “Please…don’t put him in jail. He’s a good boy, really —“

”A good boy?! Jesus lady -- ” started Werden, but caught himself as Harrison gestured to him to calm down. Werden took a deep breath, then pulled out his card and handed it to her. “Call us if you see him. We really need to talk to him.”

Rosa took the card as more tears fell from her eyes. Rudolfo seemed passive to what had happened. Harrison released the couple from the handcuffs and gave them to Werden. Harrison paused a moment, then turned to the couple.

”I need to ask you two questions,” he started, his voice filled with a sort of determined bewilderment. “These powers we’re seeing…what are they?”

”They are the powers of the CardCaptors,” Rudolfo said, his voice now seemed to command their attention as only a master storyteller could do. “It is they who are destined to wield the power of the Clow Cards. The destiny of a CardCaptor is rarely clear of why they have the magical power, but it is simply that they do have the power. This was insisted upon by the Cards’ creator: Clow Reed. He was a very powerful magician, descended of Chinese and European parents. He combined the magic of the East and the magic of the West, producing the four Elemental Cards of Earth, Fire, Air and Water.”

”However, these cards were difficult to control, possessing too much free will, which in turn, created a great deal of chaos and havoc. So, he bound them to their card forms, only to be called forth through incantation and a CardCaptor. The other powers you may have witnessed were constructed in the same way.”

”Christ, what a bunch of --” muttered Werden, but Harrison quieted him.

”But if you’re destined to be a user of these Clow Cards, why is there a red glow when Esteban uses them? Both of you glowed white.”

Rudolfo took a deep breath, remembering well the day it first happened.

”Esteban lashed out in anger when he used his power, forever corrupting the purity of the magic of the Clow Cards. To regain that purity, he must seek retribution on those who wronged him; who set him on this path of destruction. They must be judged and sentenced.”

Harrison looked at Werden, then back to Rudolfo. He quickly thanked the couple, then swiftly left the apartment, calling Striker to him. Werden rushed up next to a very determined Harrison.

”We need to find Starkin and Temple – and fast,” Harrison said.

”Temple disappeared off the face of the earth, but Starkin is still on active duty. I’ve got a contact in Narcotics who might know where he is.”

”Good,” Harrison replied, “let’s hope he’s the one that Esteban found.”

Dusk had arrived as Ramero sat atop the church he was in earlier today, perched like a gargoyle on the corner. He had gone home to get his outfit, then returned to stake out the church, in hopes of seeing Temple again. His panic attack had ceased after he donned his costume. With his mind was now focused, he was ready to kill Aaron Temple. He began to think of what he would do to him as there were so many lovely ways to punish him.

As he thought of the best way to cause pain and suffering, he watched people come and go from the assembly hall behind the church. He knew that new members often were taken there so that they could meet and greet the other parishioners. Ramero figured that he must have joined a couple of volunteer groups and was helping them – trying to atone for his murderous sins.

But no amount of volunteering would evade the Angel’s justice.

Hours passed and, finally, darkness had taken hold of the City of Angels and the church.

The hall door opened and…it was him. Aaron Temple. He still could not believe his eyes as he saw Temple leave the church hall. He almost seemed smug about something. Yes…the son of a bitch was even smiling! He would surely wipe that off his face. Numerous memories of dreams he had flooded his mind of the countless times he had killed him; some with edged weapons, some with blunt ones, but the best ones were with his bare hands. There was nothing he could not fix with his bare hands. Temple had left the sanctuary of the church and would now become his victim. With that, he drew a card from his left sleeve. The card showed the familiar mosaic and banner design. The picture was of a man wearing a hooded cloak that covered most of his features, while another man seemed unable to find him. Focusing on his power, he softly spoke the word on the banner:

“Shroud.”

The effect was fairly immediate and without any sort of ceremony. Within five seconds, he was gone. Only a nearby pigeon could sense him, but was not sure where he was. He continued to focus as he drew the Flight card. He incanted its power, then felt the wings spread behind his back. Now, he could tail him undetected.

He leapt off the church and glided quietly, flapping every once in a while to stay aloft. Temple walked along the dark sidewalk by himself, seemingly without any fear of whatever might be hiding in the shadows. The walk was uneventful as he finally arrived at his home, four blocks later. He landed softly at the foot of Temple’s walkway, just as he entered his small, two-story home. He quickly dispelled the wings. No mist was visible, since he was still shrouded.

Temple stopped, turned and looked around. He could feel the hairs on the back of his neck bristle, as though his instinct had warned him about something, but there was nothing there for him to see. The man shrugged and went inside. He dispelled the wings with a soft word and smiled maliciously beneath his facemask. It was the first time he had smiled in years.

The lights in Temple’s home had been dark for hours now, but Ramero stood still on the sidewalk, like a sentinel watching over his charge. The street was quiet, barring the occasional car that drove by. The time to strike had come.

He reached into his right sleeve and pulled out a couple of cards, one of which was the Flight card. The other card depicted an ethereal looking spirit passing through a solid brick wall. The banner below it read: GHOSTING. He never liked to use this card as it gave him a sick feeling to pass through solid objects. However, his destiny awaited him.

He dispelled the Shroud effect, then he incanted the Flight card. His wings took him up and above the roof. He continued to hover there as he called forth the power of the Ghosting card. Silver mists swirled around him, completely encasing him. Moments passed by as the mists began to disburse, leaving behind a very faded version of himself. He passed a hand through some of the remaining mist and saw that it remained undisturbed. He was a ghost now and readied to act like one.

He slowed his flapping so that he could lower himself into the house. He curled up into a ball and descended. He passed through the roof into a pitch-black attic, then further descending through the ceiling, where he could see the layers of wood and plaster. He drifted through what looked like a study, but he passed through a desk before he could see much else.

Finally, he was in the living room. There was not much furniture here: an old sofa, a table, a TV with a stand, a couple of non-descript paintings and several tables with plants on them. There were bookshelves behind him and a stairwell to the second story in front. To his right were several glass doors to a tiny backyard and a window to the front. A modest place for one so evil.

He extended his legs above the faded plaid sofa he was barely floating above. His feet were about six inches from the lumpy cushions. He focused for a moment, then uttered quietly and quickly:

”Dispel Ghosting. Dispel Flight.”

Immediately, he solidified and the wings disappeared into a large mist. He landed on the very squeaky sofa, but balanced himself and was able to quickly stifle the noise. His heart pounded in his ears as he listened for any sort of indication that he had been heard.

All was silent. Nothing stirred.

He carefully stepped off the sofa, making sure to keep the old squeaky springs as quiet as possible. With that accomplished, he took a few deep breaths to calm himself down and looked around. Glancing past the stairs, he saw an entryway to the kitchen. With nothing of note that he could see there, he decided to make his presence known. He picked up one of the vases and threw it through one of the glass doors to the backyard. The silence of the house shattered like the door.

Upstairs, Aaron and his wife, Sharon, woke up with a start. They heard the remnants of the door falling to the ground. Aaron got out of bed, grabbed a nearby baseball bat and prepared to head down the stairs. Sharon went to their son’s room to ensure his safety and call the police.

Temple made his way down the stairs and had the bat up, ready to swing. The hairs on the back of his neck bristled hard, like it had earlier that night, warning him that something was not right. At the foot of the stairs, he looked to the kitchen, and then turned to see the broken glass door. He took a few steps to the door to inspect the damage. No one was in the living room, so he was not worried about someone jumping him. He looked at the glass on the ground as it spread out across the concrete porch. He blinked once, realizing that the shards of glass were outside the living room, not inside, as it should be for a break-in.

That meant the intruder was already in the house.

This realization cued the vigilante to speak quickly.

”Dispel Shroud. Warrior Strength.”

Ramero faded in quickly and increased in size at the same time. He had noted that this effect always induced a high level of fear; especially when they know they are about to be attacked. This was no exception.

”Now…you die!”

Ramero charged him quickly and Temple swung the bat to defend himself. The dark hero put up his left arm up toward the bat. The bat connected with his arm, but the force of Ramero’s counterattack caused the bat to snap in half with a loud crack. Temple stared wide-eyed at the bat handle as Ramero punched him in the stomach, then struck him across the jaw, slamming the middle-aged man against the wall in remarkable pain.

Ramero could hear screams and cries of worry from the stairs, but he ignored them. He focused on terminating Temple with extreme prejudice. Temple was having a hard time standing up and was very dizzy. This frustrated Ramero to no end.

”Get up! Get up, you murderous sonofabitch! Get up so I can kill you!”

Ramero was ready to provide a strong, swift kick to Temple’s midsection when a little boy jumped in front of Temple, crying and screaming.

”Don’t kill my daddy! Don’t kill my daddy!”

If his mask had been off, his jaw would be on the floor. His need to kill Temple was being foiled by a small child who could not be much older than he was when his parents died. Was the cycle of violence to continue? Should he kill the child as well – forever wiping this seed of evil from the earth? But he realized he could not hurt a child. He protected them. They needed protection from the darkness of humanity. Tonight, the boy needed protection from him. Ramero shook his head quickly, not really knowing what to do with himself. He bellowed fiercely, then punched the nearby wall, creating a sizeable dent. He could barely feel the pain, but he was defeated.

”I won’t hurt your daddy…now. Go to your mother. I need to talk with your father,” he said quietly.

The child wept openly, but Temple urged him to go back to his mother. Reluctantly, he did so. His worried mother scooped him up and darted up the stairs to call the police again.

The Angel picked up Temple and pushed him against the wall. He held him there with one hand, using the other one to remove his mask. Upon revealing himself to him, his eyes narrowed with determination.

“However, later…is a different story, if you give me bad information.”

Temple shook visibly as his eyes locked onto his. He looked like he might hyperventilate at any moment, since his breathing had become very shallow. A gasp escaped his lips. He looked closely at Ramero and his eyes widened again; this time, in fearful recognition.

“Dear Jesus, you’re that man Starkin beat…him and his wife. But…but that was—

“Eighteen years ago,” he replied sternly, gritting his teeth. “That couple died two weeks later in the hospital’s ICU. I’m their son. I’m the little boy you cowards ran from.”

“Oh God…oh God!” Temple said as his lips quivered in fear. “I’m so sorry. I’m so so sorry! That night, after Starkin beat up your parents, I couldn’t be around him anymore. I was so troubled by the whole thing that I turned to Jesus and never saw him again. I swear it as the truth, so help me God. Please…” his voice became soft, “please don’t kill me.”

”Why shouldn’t I kill you?” he asked, his voice filled with anger. “You and Starkin took everything away from me. I lost all sense of the world around me. Every night, I have nightmares filled with terror. Every night, I hear my father’s dying screams. You bastards took my life away from me! Why shouldn’t I kill you?!”

A certain calmness slowly overcame the intense fear Temple felt, like he now understood that he was going to pay for his sins. He confessed in hopes of seeking atonement.

”Look,” started Temple, his voice reaching that same level of calmness, “we only meant to rob your house. Just a quick smash-n-grab job; nothing more. We had just turned to leave your place when a woman came around and saw us. I was ready to drop what I had and run. But Starkin…no, his eyes told a different story. I could see that. I can hear him so clearly, even now. ‘No way am I goin’ back. Never again.’ Before I could say anything, he swung at her face and brought her to the floor. Then he just started to kick her with an unbridled fury. It scared the hell outta me…and I did nothing to stop him.”

”When he was finished, she barely moved. I was sure he had killed her. Her husband saw her on the floor and rushed to her, but he didn’t see Starkin. I remember the look on his face as he went down. He was really scared, but he was determined to fight back. And he did. Lord have mercy, he tried so hard. But he’d taken too many kicks to his head. When he was down, Starkin just unleashed an attack with so much rage. He just beat on him, even though he was already out cold. I was terrified. Too scared to move or react.”

”As he finished with him and we were going to leave, we heard a little boy running through house. Starkin just grinned. He wanted more. It was as though he had found his calling or something. When I saw the boy, I couldn’t let it happen again. Not to a little boy…”

Temple’s eyes streamed with tears as he recalled the horror of that night. At long last, he had finally confessed his darkest sin. Even though his life would end now, he was at peace with his soul.

“Touching story,” replied Ramero curtly, “but I still don’t have a reason to not kill you. You’re just as guilty as Starkin because you did nothing.”

Temple looked at him, the fear returning. It suddenly dawned on him on what might save his life.

”I know where Starkin is,” Temple said, trying to keep his voice still. “He kept in touch for years after; reminding me about that night and what would happen if I said anything. I got so tired of living in fear of his calls…of what he might do. A year ago, I bought a new identity and got a new life,” he sighed heavily. “My wife and stepson don’t even know my real name.”

The ex-con looked at Ramero, who was unmoved by anything he had said. Temple nodded to himself regarding his fate.

”Starkin can be found in an abandoned warehouse in the Mission District, near where that Dark Wolves bust went down a few months ago.”

Ramero nodded, knowing that area well. He shoved Temple against the wall again who then stumbled to the floor. Ramero put his mask back on.

”If you’re wrong, your stepson will grow up without you.”

Ramero walked through the broken glass door and drew the Flight card. Temple sat there and watched him incant the wings and fly off into the night. Awed by what he witnessed, he was sure he had just been visited by an archangel of God.

He painfully stood up and slowly walked up the stairs to his family. Outside, the police screeched to a halt outside his home. It was time to tell everyone the truth; his wife, his stepson, and to officers Werden and Harrison. He was surprised that the cops accepted what he said and actually darted off. They even called in for a SWAT team. He was even more surprised that his wife was going to stand by him.

Two weeks later, Temple was sentenced to fourteen months imprisonment for breaking and entering and attempted robbery. As part of the plea bargain, he had fully cooperated with investigators regarding the murders of the Rameros, so the accessory to murder charges were dropped.

Temple hugged and kissed his family good-bye, but his tears were tears of joy because he felt that the Lord had been merciful to him.